


The Professors

by ChickenGoesMoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:36:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChickenGoesMoo/pseuds/ChickenGoesMoo
Summary: Some how, Harry is able to seek out the most dangerous person in a ten mile radius. He doesn't want the attention! It just has a habit of finding him no matter where he tries to hide. This year, that danger takes on the form of his new Defense Against The Dark professor, Sam Winchester, and his brother Dean. As if they weren't trouble enough by themselves, whispers of the apocalypse follow them across the ocean, along with all manner of monster that want to see the brothers and anything they hold dear destroyed. And somehow, Harry finds himself on that very short list of things the Winchesters cherish. Suddenly the prophesy about Voldemort rising again, and the fact that he got unwillingly entered as the fourth person in a tournament meant for three, doesn't seem as horrible as it once did in comparison to the Hell that is about to come to Hogwarts.





	The Professors

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored. A friend of mine challenged me to do a crossover. So I did. probably some OOC. Maybe eventual Slash.
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> First attempt at crossover.
> 
> No beta.

The World Cup, Summer before year 4.

Everyone was shoulder to shoulder, sweaty, smelly, and loud. Children all acting like animals, and adults acting like children. Insults were being thrown, along with hexes and minor jinxes till the authorities showed up to calm the matter, though they almost always ended up escalating things instead. Disgustingly enough, there were lines of stalls selling cheap knickknacks on the outer row of tents closer towards the edge of the camp grounds, and even a few witches and wizards selling themselves if they were drunk or desperate enough. Gambling was around every corner, and bets were placed on the outcome of the game, money glinting green from the over abundance of shamrock decorations in some locations. 

Harry had been waiting all summer for this, but now that he arrived at the celebration of the World Cup, he couldn't remember why. After weeks of being trapped in the smallest bedroom in number four privet drive, running from his cousin's gang, and avoiding various feet, elbows, fists, and random objects thrown his way all summer by his aunt and uncle, he was excited to finally be away from it all. Who Wouldn't be?

The only problem was, he was taken from a world where his uncle and aunt were constantly screeching at him and any physical contact was violent, only to be thrust into a very small tent (despite it's obvious magical enhancements), that was filled wall to wall with Weasleys. And big families like theirs were well known for being very loud and very physical. Harry had to stop himself multiple times from flinching away from playful shouts, friendly slugs to the shoulder, pats on the back, and even a jumper of Percy's that Fred or George sent flying around the room like a bat, much to the annoyance of the older boy, which was expressed by shrieks of disapproval, and bellows of threats. 

Not only were there too many people inside the tent, there were too many people outside it too. When Harry stepped outside to wander around the campsite with Ron and Hermione, he was first accosted by a small seven year old asking for his autograph. It was embarrassing and exceedingly annoying that in his home life he was treated like the scum of the earth, and in this one he could hardly walk a few feet without being recognized and praised. There was no happy in-between. No normal. This whole experience just proved it and it made Harry feel further alienated, seeing as how both the muggle world and wizarding world rejected him for different reasons. Even Ginny and Ron only followed him around after they found out he was the boy who lived, though he did enjoy their company. It was the closest to real friendship he could ever get in the wizarding world, and at least with the Weasleys he knew they were too proud to try to take advantage of him or his vault. They were genuine people, even if they _were_ occasionally star struck by his status as both boy who lived, and, in Arthur's case, his status of being raised in a muggle home.  

At on point, an older wizard tried to get Harry to stand still for a picture. A young woman tried to invite him over to her tent. A passing old warlock, who more than likely had been a Voldemort supporter, rather crudely offered Harry a 'ride' on his 'broomstick.' And, before long, several apparently high up wizards and witches in London began to flock Harry's way. Even a few foreigners from the opposing team's camp made sure to introduce themselves. 

By the end of the whole experience, he felt thoroughly disgusted and used. Especially with how excited, yet angry and somewhat jealous Ron seemed over all of the attention. Hermione just kept shooting him knowing looks that made Harry want to scream. Because honestly she didn't know half of it, even though she liked to pretend she knew everything.

So, when the returned from camp, Harry snuck away under the false pretenses that he was going to look around and see if they had any outdoor facilities he could use, considering Fred and George had locked themselves in the tent's bathroom with Charlie (who was surprisingly willing, even laughing at their antics), and several jars of Ginny's beauty potions. He doubted he would be able to get in there and use it anytime soon, even if he did have to go, so it made the perfect excuse. Bill had kindly offered to escort Harry, but thankfully was distracted when his father lit the leg of his pants on fire while trying to use the matches. 

Once he was sure no one was paying him any attention, he dashed. 

Harry speed walked across the camp, dodging the minister of magic, who seemed to be doing his darnedest to entertain two strange men. One was tall and gangly, with lanky brown hair that brushed the top of his broad shoulders and a surprisingly genuine smile for someone in a politicians company. However, perhaps because of that genuine and kind aura he exuded, he seemed to hold less of Fudge's attention at the moment. A majority of it was invested in a shorter (but who wouldn't be next to the other man), stocky, solidly built, dark skinned man who fudge was shouting at and pantomiming loudly enough to turn several passerby's heads. Harry suspected the man was a foreign ambassador who couldn't speak English, or perhaps deaf with how the minister flapped about like a phoenix on burning day. 

When the tall, gangly man caught Harry staring in their direction and smiled his way Harry nervously tilted his head down and shoved his hands in his pockets. Not wanting to be caught dead anywhere near that embarrassing game of charades, he turned and took off in the opposite direction before he could be pulled in to it. A few people looked his way, but when they leaned over to whisper something to their friends, Harry determinedly picked up his pace and ran the rest of the way to where a small forest sprouted up on the edge of all of the tents. It was big enough that he was sure he could lose himself inside, and still small enough that he would more than likely still be able to find his way back before an hour was up. 

Harry slowed his pace as he neared, belatedly realizing he forgot his coat and wand back at the tent. The sun began dipping lower in the sky and a chill breeze blew through and rustled the branches of the trees in the forest, making Harry shiver in kind. 

Despite the cold that was setting in, Harry was determined not to turn back. He had survived colder nights locked in his cupboard as a child, but he knew better than to wander too far. Stealthily, he snuck just past a line of trees bordering the encampment. Like he expected, he could still hear the hustle and bustle of wizards and witches erecting their tents just beyond the foliage, and there were very few people hiding in the forests when there were pre game festivities to attend to. The sound grated on Harry's already fraying nerves, and he quickly decided that he would have to keep going deeper until the sound of the leaves blocked out the noises made by all of the sports fans. 

Not much further in there were a few young kids, maybe nine or ten years old, all in mismatched muggle clothes who obviously snuck away from their parents to plot something devious. They were hidden in the branches of a nearby tree, but their laughter and dangling legs gave them away quickly enough. A frazzled witch just further down the path was shouting a name that Harry suspected belonged to one of the hooligans. 

Harry snorted in amusement at the scene, remembering how he spent the night in a tree once when his aunt set her dog ripper on him. It would have been nice to have someone come looking for him. It would have been nice to have a mother figure worry about his well being when he didn't return to supper. It would have been nice if Harry were normal. 

Looking back at the gap between the trees where the sounds of festivities could easily be heard from, Harry stepped further into the woods, hoping he would be able to find his way back before dark, but also lacking the will to care too much if he didn't. 

And with that, he let his feet carry him far away from the noise an excitement surrounding the World Cup. 

Sure, Harry loved the sport, and in a different life he may have ended up playing it as a career, but that didn't change the fact that he was jittery and on edge from all the recent human contact. He had just escaped the Dursley's, and he barely had time to recover from the mental and physical abuse before he was thrust into the open and very loud arms of the Weasley household, then thrown once again to a throng of gossiping, political wizards and witches, all treating him like a stepping stool and eyeing him as if wondering what they could do to gain his favor for the next election. 

That is, if the wizarding world even had elections. Harry really didn't know the first thing about wizarding politics. It would have been nice if they taught it in school, especially seeing as how anything magic was beaten out of him every summer. While Harry was glad he didn't have even more class work, he was sure that knowing the ins and outs of this new world might actually help him in the long run.

But it would be better for all of the politicians in the long run if Harry remained ignorant of it all wasn't it? That way he would be easier to mold to their will. Maybe that was why Hogwarts didn't have any classes like that? Easier to keep the muggle borns controlled and complacent if they don't know the ins and outs of the  wizarding government. It's much harder to change something you don't know. Otherwise, the purebloods would be overthrown. 

Harry silently fumed at the thought, not even bothering to realize how deeply he had walked in such a short time. He had passed a few little men that Harry suspected of being leprechauns a while back, but they seemed busy arguing over a pile of gold, so he passed by unnoticed. When he finally reached a quiet clearing, his irritation at everything had reached its peak.  

He nearly lost his balance when his foot rolled in a pinecone. Frustrated at how everything was out to get him, he grabbed it off the forest floor and chucked it as hard as he could in a random direction. He had wandered far enough in that he hadn't seen a soul for the past five minutes. That was part of the reason he was so shocked at the sound his pinecone made when it landed not a second later. 

"Ouch! Son of a bitch!" A gruff American accent growled from behind a line of trees. Harry instantly paled at the sound, looking around when he heard footsteps approaching from beyond a line of trees. He grabbed for his wand before remembering once again that he left it in the tent. Typical. Harry cursed his luck and quickly began looking for a place to possibly hide, or someone or something to blame. Harry drew a blank, gulping back dread as he turned to face the stranger who just stepped into the clearing from behind a tree. He was even more nervous when his eyes landed on the man who was rubbing the back of his head, and still obviously not seeing Harry standing just a few paces away. 

"Fucking squirrels," the man grumbled, looking up to the trees for a moment before finally catching a glimpse of the small bespectacled teen standing not a few meters away and jolting into shocked, automatic action.

Harry froze, like a deer in the headlights at the stranger's sudden and quick movements, flinching and taking a swift step backwards, arms flailing when another pinecone threatened to throw him off balance. 

The man was about a foot taller than him, which was unsurprising considering Harry's malnutrition. He was also made of much sturdier stuff, with broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and a muscle thick neck and arms. He also had a muggle cigarette in the hand that hadn't been carding through his short, dirty blonde hair. In fact, Harry might have mistaken him for a muggle, considering how all of his clothing matched and looked well worn, had the man not tensed and reflexively reached for what must have been his wand, though the bulk in his breast pocket seemed a bit too big to be normal. That, and the fact the pendant necklace the man was wearing gave off a strange magical pulse that seemed to push and pull like the ocean. It made Harry slightly queasy, and he wondered why the wearer's magic wasn't similarly affected by the charm.

Harry panic heightened even more when the man went for his bulky pocket, but he needn't have worried. The man might have actually carried through with the action, Whatever the action actually was, had he not have dropped his fag on the ground. 

"Shit!" the man cursed, fumbling with it and possibly burning his hand before finally accepting it as a lost cause when it dropped to the mulchy forest floor. He sighed and looked dejectedly down at it, ignoring Harry's presence in favor of mourning the loss of his cancer stick. "That was my last one," he whined, seemingly forgetting Harry in his woe. 

Harry instinctually took another step back from the seemingly distracted man, wondering to himself if he could possibly duck away before the man came to his senses and could carry through with hexing him six ways from Sunday. Sadly, his motion made leaves crinkle under foot, and the American's attention was back to him in a matter of seconds, palming the budge in his jacket again, though not reaching into it. 

Much to Harry's surprise, the stranger actually smiled at him after scanning his frightened stance, almost in apology, which made Harry relax minutely. The man was rather handsome when he didn't look like he was going to kill something. His green eyes twinkled, and his pearly whites were so bright Harry had to look away. 

"Sorry for scarin' ya, kid," the stranger said politely before crushing out the butt of his cigarette under the heal of his well worn boots in one smooth, practiced motion. Harry followed the motion and tried to remain calm when he noticed that the leather boots had ominously dark splatters in a few spots. After noticing those, Harry instantly tensed up again and took another step back. 

Unfortunately, the stranger, seemingly oblivious to Harry's discomfort, took a bigger step forward so he could circle the tree he just appeared behind to get a better look at the younger man. If he did notice Harry shy away, he didn't draw attention to it. "You nearly gave me a heart attack," the man scolded mockingly. "Don't sneak up on a guy like that! I almost blasted you to kingdom come! Thought I was the only one out here."

The stranger looked at Harry expectantly, and Harry just eyed him back suspiciously. Neither talked for a moment, both eyeing each other up, Harry more in fear, and the stranger more out of genuine curiosity. Harry was sure that the man must have realized who he was at this point. Who in the world didn't recognize the boy who lived? He self-consciously reached up to make sure the fringe of his bangs were covering up his ghastly scar. The man's green eyes followed the movement and Harry cursed his nervous ticks that often gave him away.  Still, the man said nothing on it. 

"You know, kid, not many things can boast about sneaking up on me," the stranger playfully bragged. Harry took note of the way the man said 'things,' instead of 'people.' It was even more unnerving when Harry considered how he was lumped in to that same category, but he shook it off. "You got a name, kid, or am I gonna have to make one up for you?" 

Harry's frown deepened. Was the man playing with him? The man was grinning widely enough that it might have been a joke. Honestly, Harry didn't care. He wasn't in the mood to play games. 

"I'm Harry Potter," he stated firmly, waiting for some kind of a reaction from the other man. 

The stranger only hummed and nodded, leaning back against a tree and folding his arms the way a parent might when dealing with a naughty child. "Well then, tell me young Harry, do you usually go around chucking pinecones at random people's heads?" He scolded, but the smile never dropped from his face. 

Harry had the decency to flush and look away, embarrassed. "Um… no. I didn't know you were there. I'm sorry, sir."

The older man snorted and pushed away from the tree. "Are all Brits this proper, or is it just you?" He calmly strode across the clearing in four even strides to stop in front of the young wizard. Harry refused to look up at the man's face, and flinched slightly when the man moved his hand. 

He was surprised when the hand was only held out, invitingly open, at chest level. It reminded Harry slightly of the scene Draco made just before the start of his first year. He realized almost belatedly that this was one handshake he didn't want to refuse, especially considering he didn't tell anyone where he was going before he snuck off into the woods. That, and at this distance it was very hard for Harry to convince himself that the spatters on the man's boots were just splotches of reddish brown paint. 

He quickly thrust his hand into the stranger's, looking up to see a fond yet concerned smile make its way across the man's features. "The name's Dean Winchester." The man had a firm grip, shaking Harry's limp-noodle of a arm for three pumps before letting go. "So, what are you doing this far in the woods? Lose your way?"

Harry tried to ignore how threatening those simple words sounded in Dean's, deep, gravelly voice, but the man was smiling kindly enough that Harry was pretty sure he didn't mean it in a stranger danger kind of way. Harry calmly shook his head, still trying to understand why this man was trying to carry out a normal conversation with the-boy-who-just-chucked-a-pinecone-at-his-head. "No," Harry admitted ashamedly. "I just had to get away from everyone. I'm not much of a people person to be honest, though everyone treats me like one anyway."

The man chuckled, "Yeah, I know what you mean, kid." He patted Harry's quick to tense shoulder consolingly, while looking at something far off in the distance before admitting, "I learned a long time ago not to trust big crowds of people. The bigger the crowd, the less likely you are to be able to tell the monsters from the men. And by the time you do, it could be too late." 

Harry nodded along. It seemed like sound logic, and from the shadow that crossed the man's features it was a lesson the man had learned the hard way some how. 

"Monsters come in many forms," Harry agreed. "Most of the ones I've met are men," Harry shot back in an almost playful manner, trying to smile, though Harry was sure it didn't reach his eyes. That had the man's lips quirking back up in an instant, and his eyes focused back on Harry's. 

"Well, you are a lucky one then, aren't you?" Dean shot back, reaching up to ruffle Harry's hair in a playful manner. Harry flinched away, but relaxed into the touch when he realized the man meant him no harm by the gesture. Harry was sure the man noticed it this time, but once again, he didn't mention it. He just spun on his heal and began walking away, motioning over his shoulder for Harry to follow with a hand.  "As much as I agree with you about big crowds, night is falling, and these woods are infested with all that creepy crawly shit that will make any normal person piss themselves." He called crudely over his shoulder. Harry had to wonder to himself if all Americans were this crass, or maybe it was just a regional thing. 

"I can find my own way back," Harry grumbled sulkily, but he still obediently followed the stranger through the trees, jumping slightly when he heard what must have been an animal off in the distance. 

"Pft! Yeah right. What are you, like, twelve?" Dean mocked. "And you obviously don't have your wand on you or you would have used it by now. How did you sneak out without your parents noticing?" The man asked, seemingly upset for Harry's wellbeing. 

Harry had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He frowned. He had been sure that by now the man would have caught on that he was the 'savior of the wizarding world.' Though, he doubted the man was cruel enough to bring up his parents if he knew the grisly details. Perhaps he wasn't as big of a deal in America? Surely they had their own problems. Maybe this American's ignorance was actually a good thing? He obviously wasn't interested in the political world with how he dressed and spoke his mind so freely. Perhaps, if he stuck by Dean, the older man would be kind enough to bark away any unwanted schmoozing for the rest of the night. 

"I'm forteen," Harry shot back indignantly, "and I am here with a friend and his family." Harry looked up to see that his answer had not appeased the stranger, and if anything he looked even more livid that Harry was able to wander away under the watch of his friend's parents. "He has a big family, so it was pretty easy to do, and they probably haven't even noticed I went missing yet." Harry tried. 

"Maybe they shouldn't have so many kids if they can't keep track of them." The man continued to stomp angrily through the forest next to him. "It's dangerous to be wandering alone, especially being so young. What if you were snatched? What if I had killed you?" The man growled. He looked angry enough to spit fire. 

Harry just rolled his eyes and decided to change the subject. "And what exactly were you doing hiding away in the forest?" Harry questioned, looking up at the man when his pace faltered for a moment and the dark cloud melted away into a look of resignation. "You never did say," he amended when he realized he may have pried a little too far into the stranger's personal life, despite the fact the man had asked him a similar question already. When the man still didn't answer a few moments later, Harry continued with, "Not that you need to say anything, really," he grumbled, looking up curiously when the man still didn't speak. 

The man shot him a lopsided grin when he realized Harry was backpedaling, which made Harry sigh in relief that he hadn't been offended. "I was just working up some courage to talk to my brother." The man answered simply.

Harry snorted. "Your brother must be one scary bloke if he can make you nervous."

The man laughed outright. The sound was genuine and made Harry grin genuinely back, even when the man made a swipe at Harry's head. It was a lazy attempt at a slap, and Harry suspected that it wouldn't have hurt even if it had found its mark. That was a comforting thought. "Nah, he is a friendly giant. He eats salads and shit, and he talks about his feelings like they are going out of style," Dean joked. "No, that's not what I am worried about. He has this obnoxious Bitch face he pulls whenever he feels like he has been wronged. And when he bats those puppy eyes it will make me wish he beat the shit out of me."

Harry didn't understand how anything could make someone wish for physical pain. There was no way his uncle Vernon could give him a glare hard enough to make Harry wish he had been beaten. "Why?"

"My job is pretty dangerous, and I recently went missing for a good four months because of it," Dean shrugged like it was nothing, though Harry was sure he was downplaying it. Despite the lack of physical scars, Harry was attuned enough to his own mental ones that he could recognize them on another person from a mile off. "So, like always, he has been running around under the impression I died or some shit like that."

Harry nodded like he understood, though really he didn't.  He never really understood the closeness of most familial bonds, but he always wished he had someone to share such a thing with. "Have you ever been away for that long without some form of contact?"

Dean snorted at that. "No, I guess not. But that doesn't mean he had to up and quit his job and hop across the pond. I had a hell of a time hunting him down!" Dean snorted, as if he made a joke, but Harry really didn't know what was so funny. 

"What is it you do for a living?"

Dean actually laughed at that. "Darn, kid! You haven't figured it out?" The older man guffawed. "I thought for sure you had. What, with how much you keep flinching around me," the stranger joked, and Harry flushed in embarrassment at finally being called out for it.  "The only thing I can guess at this point is you are a muggle born. A pretty thick one at that. Even most muggle born I have met still have more self preserving instincts than you do, kid. It's almost kinda sad how willingly you accepted my company so far. Not like I plan in ganking you, or anyone here, actually." The man stated boldly. 

Harry turned his head, brows furrowing in confusion. "Ganking?" He muttered. "Is that some kind of American term? 'Cause I'm unfamiliar."

The man turned to him, and laughed uproariously. "That's all you took away from what I just said? I like you kid! You got balls. Sure, they probably haven't even dropped yet, but you sure got 'em!"

Harry frowned at the rather lewd remark, but let it slide. "Well, while I am not a muggle born, I have been raised by muggles, so you will have to excuse my ignorance. And I have been known to be rather reckless and get myself into hopeless situations, and yet I always come out of each relatively unharmed. Despite how rude you are, I felt like we might be a bit alike in that respect. Not to mention the fact that, while I may be ignorant to whoever you are, the same can be said the other way around." As if to prove he could be just as much a pureblood snob if he wanted to, he channeled his inner Draco, not that he would like to admit he had a part of Draco within him in any way. "Despite how little we both seem to know about each other, I find your attitude and personality refreshing compared to the fake responses I generally garner from strangers," Harry smoothed.

The man was still laughing when they drew up short beside the edge of the camp grounds. "Tell you what, kid, if you still feel that way when you learn what I do for a living, I'll owe you a beer!"

"I'm only fourteen," Harry tried to point out as they both turned to face each other. 

The man shrugged it off. "Yeah, but kids are allowed to drink young over here, aren't you?" Dean said with a crooked grin. 

Harry frowned, shaking his head at the American's idiocy. "Not that young."

"So it will be even more of a treat for you!" He turned and made toward the camps, when Harry reached out and tugged the man's flannel jacket to keep him from going any further. 

The man seemed surprised that Harry initiated contact, but didn't seem too offended. 

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm not interested, really. The stuff smells vile," Harry neglected to mention how his uncle often consumed it in bulk. "But if you still want to buy me one after you learn who I am, and you speak to me as freely as you do now, I promise I'll drink the whole bottle." 

For a few tense moments they both locked eyes and stared at each other solemnly before their faces split into huge grins. In the spur of the moment, they spat on it and shook hands like a couple of hooligans, eyes shimmering in amusement at the other's antics. 

Dean stepped aside and motioned the smaller boy forward. "After you!"

Harry jokingly took a step forwards before turning around and beckoning the older green eyed man forward with a hand flourish and a bow. "You know what they say about age before beauty," he jibed. 

Dean laughed again, eyes twinkling more than they had all night. "Don't mind if I do, runt."

It was strange, the amount of warmth that usually cutting and hate filled nickname was lathered in. Harry decided that, despite how harsh it usually was coming from his family's mouths, he didn't mind it so much when Dean said it. 

And he rather hoped they would both win their prospective bets and Dean would continue to call him by it. He was almost embarrassed to admit to himself that he was becoming oddly attached to the strange American's mannerisms. Though, he doubted the man would want to be friends with a fourteen year old. Still, it was oddly refreshing to be treated like a wayward child rather than a wizarding hero. 

He would just try to enjoy it while it lasted. 

Which apparently wasn't too long. 

As they approached the first row of tents people began to turn and gawk. For once, they weren't looking at Harry at all, but the man beside him, who ignored their gob smacked glances his way with a cocksure arrogance that described everything he heard about Americans to a T. 

People were too shocked by Dean's appearance that they didn't even bother whispering or pointing. One middle age gentleman was so distracted that he walked right into a pole and dropped cold. 

Before, Harry had hated the bustling. Now, he just wished the deafening silence would be over so he didn't feel so uncomfortable. 

"Um… Dean? Where exactly is your brother?" Harry hedged, realizing that the quickest way to get out of this tense atmosphere was to deliver Dean wherever he was supposed to be. 

"Hm? Oh," he paused in the middle of two intersecting paths to look around and try to get his bearings. He tapped his chin in contemplation, meanwhile, the entire population scattered into their tents like gnomes scurrying from a cat. "Honestly, this is further than I expected to get, really."

Harry gawked at the man. "You don't even know if he is here for sure or not, do you?"

Dean scratched the back of his head and looked down at his smaller companion with a sheepish grin. "He'll be here soon." 

"I thought he didn't even know you were alive!" Harry argued back.

Dean frowned, hand suddenly reaching into his breast pocket. "Didn't think about that! Hold on," he fished around in his pocket for a moment, hand resting on something inside, and a devious grin lit up his features. "This will get his attention!"

"What is it? Are you going to send some kind of sparks up? How will he know it's—"

Dean shot Harry a crooked grin, and Harry paled when he saw the object being pulled out of the pocket. "I suggest you take cover, kid. I got it from here!"

Harry, not needing to be told twice, dropped. The sound of gunfire was deafening in the silence. Harry didn't think there could be anything louder until over half a dozen pops sounded, and suddenly there was chaos.

Something heavy and warm dropped over Harry's form, and he belatedly realized that Dean either was hit or threw himself over Harry to prevent him from any ricocheting spells. Harry's heart swelled a little when the voice at his neck made him realize it was the later and not the former. "I told you to take cover!" The man grumbled in his ear, hot breath ghosting over his shirt collar. 

"You didn't exactly give me time to run, did you?" Harry grunted over the sound of the spells being shouted. "Why did you fire a gun in a populated area in the first place?! Are you daft?" He twisted tried to push Dean off of him, only to end up almost hit with a bright red spell. Before Harry could even blink, the much larger American grabbed him by the back of his shirt half dragged Harry back beneath him, and lunged forward to take the spell in Harry's place while smothering him into the dirt even more than before. 

Harry expected the man to go limp on top of him.  Instead, the necklace around his neck gave off a stronger pulse than ever before, nearly burning the place where it dangled from a chain pressed into the back of Harry's neck. Harry made a cry of pain and tried to move away from the contact, but Dean wouldn't have it. The searing pain from the necklace seemed to go strait through Harry's vanes and pulsed up his neck, focusing right at the center of his scar. 

Harry would have let out a scream had another voice not shouted out first, making Dean shift and the necklace to pull away from his neck, stopping the painful direct contact. Harry sighed in relief when the spells quickly came to an end.  

"Everyone, put your wands down! Put them down now! That's my brother!"

Thank God! Imagine what would happen it Dean's brother hadn't been there. The weight on Harry's back lifted, though when he opened his eyes and looked behind him, he was embarrassed to note Dean was straddling his rear, one hand firmly placed on his back to keep Harry protectively in place beneath him, just in case. 

Harry titled his head a little to make out the man swiftly striding towards them, pushing past several disgruntled Aurors as he went. It took Harry a few moments to realize what he was seeing, considering he was looking at the tall man through the bright glare of the setting sun and extremely dust covered glasses, the glare from blocking out the tall man's features.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The patronizing tone of the minister of magic followed after, like always, asking the dumbest questions in the wake of an attack of some kind. 

"Hey, Sammy! Long time no see!" Dean had the audacity to grin at the imposing stranger above them. The stranger did not take kindly to that. 

"Dean, of all the bone headed things you have done—" The voice started, and Harry could tell this was an argument the two had many times.

"I couldn't find you!" Dean jumped in, preventing the man, and suspected brother of Dean's, from continuing the scolding. Though, there seemed to be a deeper meaning to those four words, inferring that this went far beyond just not being able to find Sam in a crowd of people in the camp. 

Harry was slightly shocked when the taller brother, who was now close enough that Harry could recognize him as the kind man in Fudge's company earlier, with the long hair and longer limbs, reached out for Dean. He wasn't smiling now anymore. 

His hand shot forward and snatched Dean's jacket with both hands, growling when he heaved him off of Harry, nearly causing Dean to step on the forgotten boy had Harry not thought fast and tucked and rolled the moment he was out from under the overbearing weight of the gunman. Harry quickly stood and dusted himself off, eyeing the family squabble with an equally confused and bewildered look on his face as the many Auror's around him. 

"Neither could I!" The taller brother shouted, face snarling, but his voice cracking under the strain of holding back other, much deeper emotions. He shook Dean by the jacket, and Dean just went limp in his brother's hands, letting Sam's anger run its course. Now Harry knew what Dean meant when he told Harry Sam was overly emotional. "Do you know how scared I was? I thought you…." His voice cracked again, and he shoved Dean away angrily, but not enough to do any harm. His head tilted down, making his hair obscure his face, though from the shaking of his shoulders he was either laughing, on the verge of tears, or barely able to control his rage. 

Probably a mix of all three. 

Dean took a hesitant step forwards, arm reaching out as though to console his brother, before closing it into a fist and playfully punching his brother in the arm to relieve the tension. Sam may have been a bit too expressive with his emotions, but Harry now realized why this may have happened considering Dean was emotionally constipated. Sure, he had emotions, they were just so blocked up he couldn't get them out in a healthy way. Harry was surprised Sam didn't punch Dean back after that display. Hard. And in the face. Since he didn't, Harry scowled at Dean's back in Sam's place. 

"I'm here now." Dean said, quietly enough that the other's in the clearing had to lean in to hear it. While his actions may not have been very expressive, his eyes were. They shimmered with worry, regret, and fear of rejection. "I thought you might want to know that I am not," Dean swallowed a lump in his throat, and Harry looked away, feeling really uncomfortable for interrupting this private family moment. "You know? Dead?" Harry winced when he heard Dean laugh awkwardly at that statement. That wouldn't go over well. 

He turned back to the scene before him just in time to see Sam rise up to his full height, and take a threatening step towards his shorter brother, bearing down on Dean till they were nose to nose. "And do you know how pissed I am at you?" h e shouted in Dean's face, making the whole clearing take a step back at the sound and Dean shrink. "I had to quit my job because of you! I contacted dad because I couldn't find you!" Sam shot a worried look around at the stunned faces of the other wizards, who oddly gasped at his omission about his father, before leaning in and hissing in Dean's face. "I even visited the crossroads several times, and they told me they had you."

Harry wasn't sure if anyone else heard those ominous words, but they sounded bad. Really bad. 

Dean, instead of gasping like a normal person probably would at that admission, groaned in frustration, running a hand through his short spikes. "No…. Please tell me you didn't!"

"Why do you think I had to hop across the ocean?" Sam defended. "Sure I grieved your loss, but I am not so overly emotional that I had to run out of the country to flee your memory! But I wouldn't have done something so big if I hadn't thought it was necessary. And before you ask, no, I didn't tell dad, but I have always suspected he suspects what I am. And he oh so subtlety planted a tracker on my old car. My sneakascope wouldn't shut up till I found it."

Dean paled. "Shit!"

Sam was just about to rip into Dean about something else when Harry tried to stifle a sneeze with his dust covered sleeve from when he dived onto the ground, only to end up inhaling more dust and sneezing even louder. 

Sam, seemingly broken out of his little world that consisted of only him and his brother, froze as he stared. A sudden look of horror crossed his features and he spun back to Dean. "Please tell me you didn't threaten a child into inviting you onto the grounds?" He railed. "That's even dumber than shooting!"

"No," Dean assured, reaching out for the young wizard without even looking and pulling him under his arm. Harry went along awkwardly with the motion, not quite sure if he was suppose to put his hands somewhere or not. He decided to let them hang loosely by his side while Dean jostled him in what must have been a friendly manner. "It's fine. Harry's cool."

Sam didn't seem to buy that and looked down on the slightly uncomfortable teen with a frown. "I apologize on my brother's behalf. If he dragged you here—"

Harry shook his head, pushing Dean's arm away reluctantly so he didn't look any more like the child he already felt he was in their presence, though he soon found himself missing it's warmth. "He didn't drag me here or anything. He said he was looking for his brother, and I thought, what the heck?" Harry shrugged, partially addressing the rest of the audience and minister just to make sure the Auror's didn't try to charge Dean with kidnapping the savior. He was pretty sure such a crime could be punishable with a Kiss at this point. "It's not l was busy anyway."

Sam didn't seem convinced. Thankfully, Fudge, who was standing behind Sam and Dean was obviously looking for a way to avoid an international incident with America or something, because he fidgeted nervously let out a breath of relief. 

"Are you sure?" Sam looked right at his brother, giving him the bitch face Dean warned Harry about. "He can be a bit of an ass sometimes."

"Hey!"

"I've noticed."

Dean scowled. "Not you too!"

Sam glowered at Dean before he turned around and quickly whispered a few words to Fudge, who responded, surprisingly, with a titter and a, "No harm done! Need to keep the Aurors on their toes anyway." Sam frowned and continued to whisper, though he looked irritated that the man didn't want to press charges, while Dean laughed uproariously.

The minister nervously nodded to whatever Sam said, and avoided Dean's smirking gaze when he turned around and whisked away the Aurors, claiming something about how this was all a routine drill, and how they all preformed admirably. None of them seemed to believe it, but all of them seemed relieved to get out of there. 

Sam turned back to Dean and hissed, "Don't think we won't talk about this in depth later. You will wish Fudge had his way with you when I am done reaming you out!"

Harry was half expecting the self important politician to try to sweep him away too, but when Fudge turned back around to collect him, Dean leered at the greasy wizard and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, making the man wince like he had been struck and scuttle away after his Aurors. It was odd seeing Dean, who treated Harry with kindness (despite the incident where he fired a gun like a maniac), treated like a monster, and it was even odder that the minister would leave Harry behind with a man whom he obviously considered dangerous. Not that he minded too much. Perhaps it was the gun and the necklace that upset everyone else so much?

Sam glowered at his brother through this entire interaction, but didn't say a word. "So," Sam hedged awkwardly, making a face at his brother. Harry watched Dean make a face back, and realized they were not so subtly having a silent conversation. Whatever it was about, Dean won, and Sam sighed. Harry suspected it had something to do with himself, though he wasn't sure exactly what. "Harry, was it?" Sam said, voice straining with false sweetness. "I'm sure you parents are wondering where you've wandered off to. I'll be the mature one and take you back to their camp if you would like? I don't want you to get in trouble by them for what Dean put you through."

Ah, so that was what they were arguing about. Who would take him back and tell his more than likely irate parents what happened. Harry almost had to snort at the thought of Sam kindly explaining how Harry stood next to a man with a gun and walked away uninjured. Mr. Weasley didn't need that kind of stress, but he was sure the mention of a gun would excite the older wizard. "No need." Harry tried to wave them off and leave, but the hand on his shoulder tightened. He looked up questioningly at Dean, who was stern faced. 

"You will excuse me if I am worried about you getting back to your tent safely,"

Sam interjected. "You ended up in my brother's care, of all people. Not exactly a safe place for any young wizard to be, willingly or not! I will have to talk to your parents about teaching you not to wander off with strangers," Sam scolded soberly. 

Harry scoffed at that and folded his arms indignantly. "Good luck with that conversation. It will be a little one sided. Don't be offended if they don't respond right away."

Sam's face twisted into one of confusion. 

"His parents aren't here," Dean supplied.

If anything, Sam looked even more scandalized at that. "Even more a reason why you shouldn't be wandering about! Do you know how worried they will be when you tell them? You are putting your friend's parents in a really awkward place by wandering off like that! You will be lucky if your mother and father ever let you see them again!"

Harry snorted, which earned him a scowl and a 'bitch face.' "The most shocking thing they might do if I tell them is roll over in their graves. That is if I can find their graves."

Sam frowned, his mind still trying to catch up with what Harry just admitted. "What?'

Harry tried to shrug his nonchalance. "My parents are dead. Have been for a while, actually. Comes with the territory of being Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived."

Sam looked like he was about to be sick.

 


End file.
